Marilyn

As I limped to Mother's car, I began to wonder if I had misinterpreted Bart's closing in the note.  It simply said, "Love You, Bart.."....It didn't say, "I love you, Bart."  Just "Love you, Bart.".........hmmm...I wondered if he closed all notes to friends in that manner.  If he did, the "love you" meant nothing.  I had only one other piece of correspondence from him, and I hadn't even bothered to read it.  I didn't recall throwing it in the garbage, so it had to be somewhere in my room -- probably under the bed or somewhere nearby.  I realize nearly a week had gone by, but I certainly hadn't been in any condition to clean my room, but I certainly hadn't been able to dirty it up -- in any regard -- either.

On the other hand, he certainly acted like he loved me, but how could he? He'd only known me for a week.  But he was just 22.  He wouldn't know what love was, anyway, I thought in my mature 27 year old mind..............but did I? I was fully aware of the separation of infatuation and love, but I also knew that infatuation sure felt a lot more like love than love did when one was in the throws of it. 

Mother honked her horn, and awakened me from my pensiveness.

"Are you lost, girl? I'm over here!" she said as she flagged her arm out the window.

No, I wasn't lost -- or not in the sense that she was referring, but I'd certainly been lost in thought and had limped right past her Oldsmobile.  I needed to find that letter before I brushed my teeth, I thought, so I could compare the closings.  ((Lord, we think of the stupidest things when we are in the throws of passion, and none of it would matter a hill of beans in the grand scheme of things........or would it?)) I reversed my steps and got in Mother's car, and we drove to Our House.

We didn't talk too much.  I was afraid to ask any more questions about her past, my respect meter for her had kind of plummeted after that, and I felt a little uncomfortable after Bart had let me know Mother's true motives.  I was attracted to Mother like I was attracted to my other close friends......as a friend and as a friend only.  There was NO physical attraction whatsoever, and I realize that C.S. Lewis postulated that homosexuality was a perversion of friendship, but I knew he was WRONG.  I NEVER slept with my friends.  They were held in a sacred, untouchable category, and I'd never let sex sully a good friendship.  Friends were anathema as sex partners.  That would be like incest.  There was no way that I'd ever be intimate with Mother.  Many of my friendships endured for years; most of my boyfriends had endured for months with a couple exceptions.  In some ways, I held friendships in higher regard than sexual relationships.  I just would not cross that line and intertwine the two.  I felt kind of hurt that Mother was interested in me sexually.  I was more than the way I looked.  I'd prefer that she just liked me for me and left it at that.

When we were buzzed into Our House, I was fully expecting a meow, but there was no Kit behind the bar.  Cherry was bartending, and I was kind of surprised.  It was only about 8:00 in the evening, and there were only a few guys around the pollished walnut bar. I didn't recognize any of them, and some of them looked rather....eh...delapidated.  Mother's corner seat was open and so was the seat next to it, so we perched there.  Of course, she had her usual, and I had an Absolute Cape Cod ((except they call them Vodka Cranberries in Arkansas)).  We exchanged the usual niceties and Cherry encouraged us to visit the bar the following night because he was hosting his monthly talent night.  I paid for the drinks and left a 2.00 tip (( btw, you should always tip your bartender well..........someone could write a book on the multiple reasons why all bartenders should be tipped well, but in this small town, a bartender could make or break your reputation......and a couple dollars can make the difference.))

"Who's in it, gurl?" Mother asked suspiciously.

"A few of our regulars, and a few surprises," Cherry said mysteriously.

"I knew it, gurl.  Beyonka is trying to get her ass back in here, ain't she?" Mother said.

Cherry said, "I haven't seen Beyonka."

But, I noticed something Mother didn't notice.  Cherry had not answered Mother's question.  Instead, he had sidestepped it.  So, I knew the answer was yes, but Mother let it slip by her.

"That other bitch ain't gonna' show her face around here, is she?" Mother asked venomously.

"Fiona?" I asked.

"Nope, haven't seen or heard from her," Cherry confirmed.

"So, who are the surprises?" Mother demanded to know.

"Ancient Chinese Secret," Cherry laughed a bit. "If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.  You have to come out and see the show."

Surprise was always a good ploy to fill an audience, I thought to myself.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see some old man leering at me.  He was seated two bar stools down , and he looked like a bum -- a drunk bum, to be more accurate -- with disheveled hair ,and he wore green cover-alls that were literally more black than green because of the grease and dirt that was imbedded into them.  The smell that surrounded him wasn't pleasant  ( to put it mildly), and I suddenly realized why Charles Schultz always drew a dusty haze around PigPen in his comic strip.  The haze of odor that lingered around this man was nearly visible.  I angled myself more toward Mother and Cherry, but I couldn't escape the odor.....no, it was more than odor...it was pure STINK.

"Are you going to perform or just emcee?" Mother asked.

"Ancient Chinese Secret," Cherry teased again. "Be here at 10:30 tomorrow night and find out."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw PigPen in coveralls emerge from his seat, and suddenly I felt an arm around my neck and a mouth against my ear.  The stink was stifling.  Before I thought, I'd pushed him off, ( he landed on the floor), and I was up and asking him quite irately.

"What makes you think you can touch this, Mother Fucker?"

In unison, Mother and Cherry said, "Marilyn!"